Page 10 of Letters From Victor

She glanced up at me through her eyelashes, considering. “I really wanted to be a designer. I love clothes and fashion. And so much is changing right now. I actually design and make a lot of my own outfits.” Her eyes sparkled as she spoke, but she paused, and that light dimmed. “But it’s not sensible for a wife and mother.”

I shook my head, a spark of anger igniting in my chest. The very idea that Barbara’s dreams and ambitions were somehowless important or less valid because she was a wife and mother infuriated me.

I leaned forward, holding her gaze. “Barbara, listen to me. Your dreams matter. Your passions matter. Being a wife and mother doesn’t negate that. If anything, it should fuel it. What kind of example do you want to set for your son? That he should settle? Give up on what makes his soul sing?”

Barbara blinked, clearly taken aback by my intensity. She opened her mouth as if to speak, then closed it again, her brows furrowed in thought. “I’ve never thought of it that way before,” she admitted softly, her fingers twisting the napkin in her lap.

Joseph returned, interrupting the charged atmosphere with a polite clearing of his throat. “May I take your order?”

I watched Barbara, her eyes darting to the menu she hadn’t touched. She seemed lost—adrift in the sea of options she wasn’t accustomed to navigating alone. Her gaze flicked back to me.

“Would you care for some recommendations?” I offered, my voice low and soothing.

Barbara hesitated and then nodded appreciatively. “Yes, please. I…I’m not quite sure what to choose.”

I turned to Joseph. “What would you recommend for the lady?”

Joseph bowed his head slightly. “May I suggest thepiccata di vitello,signora. It’s a tender veal dish, lightly breaded and sautéed in a buttery lemon and caper sauce. An authentic Italian classic that’s both delicate and flavorful.”

“That sounds delicious, thank you,” she said with a nod.

I held up my hand. “Are you sure? You only heard one recommendation.”

She nodded quickly, sliding her menu toward Joseph. “Yes, it sounds lovely. Delicious, in fact.”

I studied her for a moment before I let it go. “The spaghetti bolognese for me, please, Joseph.”

“Absolutely, Mr. Cardello,” Joseph said with a curt nod before rushing away.

As he departed, I turned my attention back to Barbara. “Why do you find it so difficult to order your own meal?”

Her cheeks flushed a soft rose. “I’m not sure I know what you mean.”

“Sure you do. When the four of us went to dinner last month, you let Frank order for you. I don’t think you even picked up the menu.”

“You really do have a good memory,” she mused with her head cocked to the side.

“And you’re dodging the question,” I pressed.

Eventually, Barbara sighed and admitted, “Frank likes to order for both of us when we go out. I suppose I let him because it makes him feel…important.” She took another sip of champagne, taking a moment before continuing, “It’s just easier that way. No fuss, no arguments.”

I leaned back in my chair, studying her thoughtfully. “But what about whatyouwant?”

Barbara’s eyes met mine, a quiet determination flickering in their depths. “You served in the war, didn’t you?”

“I did.”

“Then you’ll understand choosing your battles. Sometimes, it’s better to keep the peace than to fight for what you want.”

I laughed softly. “Then you don’t understand much about being a soldier. Not that I’d expect you to. There is no option to ‘choose your battles.’ Your battles are chosen for you by people you’ll never meet. People who don’t give a damn what happens to you because they’ll never see those battles.”

She held my gaze—a thousand questions swimming just beneath the surface—but said nothing. After a moment, she took a delicate sip of her champagne, the bubbles in the glass twinkling like stars under the light.

“I’m sorry. Of course, you’re right,” she conceded softly. “I’ve never thought about it like that before. That was stupid of me.”

“No harm done.”

“What I was trying to say is that I’ve just been…comfortable, I suppose. It’s easier to go along with what’s expected of me rather than fight for what I truly want. Don’t rock the boat, as it were.”

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